


You called me lavender, you called me sunshine.

by Luenetta



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M, Trailer park, sad but fluffy!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-08 18:08:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/764404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luenetta/pseuds/Luenetta
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He plays you like he does his piano.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You called me lavender, you called me sunshine.

**Author's Note:**

> Something I made that goes with Lana del Rey's song Trash (miss America) and mermaid motel. If you listen to either you'll understand I swear. Written smartphone Drabble that I might make into something more. Anyways!

And you swear your heart skips a beat or five when he has his glasses off, and you have off yours, and he's squinting to see you clearly and you're squinting because you don't know how someone this perfect, so fucking perfect, can be real. 

His eyes are blue but not like the ocean at all. They're an intoxicating palatinate; royal blue velvet that makes you want to cry. 

You watch the ceiling fan spin, providing no breeze. Just a clicking noise that makes you think more and more and now you're stuck in memories. You want out. 

He is holding your mind with a firm grip even though he's gone and you roll your eyes. Annoying. Why is he allowed to do this? Making you a mess and making you miss him, making letters take so long to reach you. 

Why not email? You'd asked that last summer, and he replied too quickly 'no no that's not sweet enough'. You appreciated the sentiment, thanked him with sugary kisses and rested in his arms. You're a fool and you love it. 

He's off doing big things, expanding his world and you're where you've always been. In a Houston trailer park drinking apple juice and watching people come and go. You don't care about making your world bigger, you just want him there with you. Why did he leave? He said he'd visit, call you all the time. See you soon, okay? Love you! But apparently no, not soon; the last time the phone rang it was just the land lord saying to turn your music down. 

You thought you could be there with him forever. It was like heaven on earth and you swore you had died even in the summer when you had no air conditioning and Texas summer threatened to burn you both alive. Even when you were both working at the corner store and bagging things and living from minimal pay to pay, at night you'd watch movies and laugh and fuck and everything was okay. 

You wonder what your brother is doing; how would life have gone if you hadn't been such a brat? 

You don't like regret. It's not a good color on you, after all. Makes you look awkward and unapproachable. Your brother told you that you were much too young to move out, but you pitched that fit. You were 'practically raising yourself' and would be better off with just John! He laughed because you were kids, you would never be able to make it on your own. You'd be back. 

You didn't go back.

You're five years due for being homesick but maybe you're just lovesick. 

It's moments like these when you flip through those letters and hold the paper just because he's held it too. You trace your fingers down the envelope and wonder if he licked it before laughing quietly at yourself. You admire his sloppy hand writing and laugh at how he's exactly the same in written form. You can hear his voice drip off the page and it's like he's sent you a piece of himself inside.

Your days are empty and today is worse, you're not hungry because you're full and fed up with yourself. You blast your music and within practically minutes you hear a knock. You don't want to get kicked out, so the knob is hastily turned down. Might a well be off. 

You wonder why your landlord has always hated you so much. It's not like you caused too much trouble besides the bass of your speakers, it wasn't like you ran around acting a fool all the time. 

The knocking continues. 

You trip over empty bottles and an old acoustic guitar and swing the door open while the noise reverberates from the abused instrument. You groan and snap a what at them and stare at their shoes.

You feel him. You don't need to look up. 

You fall into his chest and squeeze, Jesus couldn't pull you off. Your body isn't even really listening to you anymore, and you're frozen in place. His bags fall and he doesn't care, just pulls you in harder and closer. Closer. 

There is no hesitation and he doesn't get a word in before your lips are crashing together and your hearts are racing and you didn't know you could be more in love but the twinge in your chest is telling you otherwise. He might as well be killing you and suddenly you understand the phrase young love murder. You don't know whether you want to laugh and smile or sob into the kiss. 

"Honey I'm home?"

He kicks his bags into the doorway and you pull him inside and between gasps and noises there's muttering of I love you. I told you I'd come home didn't I? Your eyes are leaking but you don't think he can tell, you try to make it seem like you had been alright. 

He gently removes your glasses and proceeds to kiss away each tear. 

You can only wrap your arms around him, stopping your cries was no longer any sort of option. You can feel his love and you pray, fucking please, let him feel yours too. 

The door is barely closed all the way and you're already fumbling out of tee shirts, whispering things that you've wanted to say- wanted to hear for so long. Your heart feels so whole now and you want more, you want to hold on as tightly as possible so he won't leave again. Please, fuck, don't go again. 

You think that he's picked you up but it's just the high feeling you get when you're so close to him. You want to hear his voice and touch his hair and punch him for leaving you alone and kiss his hands and hold his fingers because he came back for you. God those hands; he plays you like he does his piano without even trying, getting whatever sound he wants by pressing the right places.

Your hips move against his without thought and you can feel what you think is the world heating up. You're breathing gets a bit deeper and all you can repeat is scattered I love yous. The friction makes you moan and adds to the gasps as you proceed to kiss him stupid.

He returns every I love you, and you look at him with a smile you didn't know you had until you saw his eyes again. 

Royal blue velvet that makes you want to cry.


End file.
